Nadia Percut Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Jakarta

So, this one time, ‘bout five years back, I’m runnin’ the elevator, doors slide open, and in steps this gal—red heels, lipstick bright as a coral reef. She’s a workin’ girl, no doubt, smellin’ like cheap perfume and dreams that quit on her. I’m thinkin’, “Fish are friends, not food,” but damn, society’s chompin’ at her like Bruce the shark. She looks at me, eyes tired, says, “Top floor, pops.” I nod, hit the button—whirrr, up we go. I’m mad as hell, tho—why’s she gotta hustle like this? World’s cruel, man, chews up the weak and spits ‘em out.

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The answer varies from woman to woman. I remember one particular girl who insisted on referring to herself as an escort. ‘Ah, good for you,’ I said to her. ‘I’m a whore myself.’.

Man, what a day in Percut! Seriously, I’m still reeling from it. So, I wake up, right? Sun’s blasting through my window on Jl. Raya Percut. I’m like, “Great, another day in paradise.” But nah, it was anything but that.

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